


Salt and Paint (Empty Rooms)

by Half_SubmergedinPurgatory



Series: TG Prompt Collection [47]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst, Gen, Prompt Fic, friendship and comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 01:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11864079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half_SubmergedinPurgatory/pseuds/Half_SubmergedinPurgatory
Summary: I-AZAURUSFYRE:The original Quinx are trying to hide their sadness while Aura is excitedly setting up his belongings in Shirazu's old room.





	Salt and Paint (Empty Rooms)

By the time the new recruits arrived, Saiko and Urie had already cleaned out Shirazu’s room. It had been a silent agreement between the two of them: make sure the CCG couldn’t touch a single thing. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust their bosses ( _they didn’t_ ) or thought Shirazu’s things would go missing ( _they did)_.   
  
They simply didn’t want the new recruits to ( _see their pain_ ) have to clean.   
  
Urie kept inventory of everything. To do so, he painted the room, exactly how it was before they touched it ( _not to remember, not to paint Shirazu on lonely nights_ ). Saiko kept the boxes ( _with the vain hope she’d have someone to give them back to_ ).   
  
She shipped a motorcycle model to Sasaki.   
  
She found it later by Shirazu’s empty grave. The paint had been rubbed off the sides, as if a nervous hand had run over them again and again.  
  
She wished Sasaki had come back instead of the motorcycle ( _Urie had muttered about the scent of salt and the furrow between his brows eased a little though, so she supposed something was better than nothing…however, she’d always been too selfish to settle for that_ ). 

* * *

Aura got Shirazu’s room. It felt wrong and Urie choked back the resentment that built up in his throat. Aura’s decorations weren’t yellow, his windows were covered in drapes, there wasn’t shitty racing manga spread around his room…  
  
It was disgusting ( _Aura hadn’t done anything wrong, but he wasn’t Shirazu_ ).   
  
He didn’t help Aura unpack. He pretended that the others needed his assistance more. He pretended to take a phone call.   
  
He pretended it was Tooru on the other end, telling him exactly what he needed to hear, telling him how to be sympathetic…  
  
He pretended Sasaki was still there ( _comforting him through th- no, he didn’t need that bastard_ ).   
  
Saiko stayed in Sh- Aura’s room the whole time Urie avoided it. Later, she told him ( _with the shittiest fake smile he’d ever seen_ ) that Aura had shown her his magic tricks. She said he was a good kid, that she’d pick up her slack, and that maybe he’d give them back their energy.   
  
She froze, then went back to her room to cry.   
  
( _Nothing would give them back their energy_ )

* * *

Aura liked to read in his room. He wouldn’t come out right away for dinner or missions. He often wore headphones and couldn’t hear them call…  
  
Saiko always looked like she was lifting something too heavy for her small shoulders when she opened his door. Eventually, Urie couldn’t take it anymore.   
  
He was Squad Leader, wasn’t he? He had to take responsibility.   
  
The first time he entered Aura’s room, he nearly vomited. It was dark and cozy. It no longer smelt like shitty hamburgers, wet fur, and whatever bullshit manly cologne Shirazu tried to wear…  
  
It was different. He’d have to accept that.   
  
He didn’t remember telling Aura to go downstairs, but he clearly had. Soon, he was alone in a foreign space. He shut his eyes and went back downstairs.  
  
( _Saiko touched his arm in thanks and worry. Urie felt surprisingly comforted by the gesture_ )

* * *

He’d knocked Aura out. It was an accident during training. The kid, for all his prodigal upbringing, wasn’t that special.   
  
Maybe Urie hated that about him.   
  
How normal he was ( _how much like someone else he could be_ ).   
  
He had to carry him to his room and place him on his bed. Urie did it without hesitation this time. He’d been in there before. He could do it again ( _he was not **weak**_ ).   
  
There was a motorcycle model on his nightstand. The paint was rubbed off the sides.  
  
It smelt like salt and blood.  
  
Urie inhaled sharply, turning on a dime to flee the room. Saiko’s silhouette in the doorway stopped him, however.  
  
“He likes vehicles.”  
  
She said bluntly, gesturing to the model.   
  
Anger ( _sadness, fear, all the emotions he could never face_ ) welled up in Urie’s chest and he stormed past her. He painted the entire night, trying desperately to run away without running.   
  
Shirazu’s face gazed up at him from the canvas ( _Uried hated himself_ ). 


End file.
